At Bowdoin, we've managed to develop a list of activities and/or events that you absolutely must do if you really want to graduate in the security of knowing you've milked your education for all its worth. Going to L.L. Bean at 2 a.m., taking an Outing Club trip, making Super Snack nachos, etc.
A few nights ago, I checked off the list one of the "musts" that can usually be found not only on Bowdoin's checklist, but on any list of college obligations: I pulled my first all-nighter.
I wish I could say I had a good reason, maybe four 12-pagers, a chem lab, and three job interviews lined up, but I've actually had a pretty relaxed week. I simply had a paper due, and instead of diligently planning ahead, I decided to wait, and wait, and wait, until after dinner the night before.
I sat in the library, looked at the clock, and started counting: "Okay, If I do a page an hour, and it's eight o'clock now, that means...damn." I considered calculating how a 45-minute page would work out, but I felt it best to start writing at that very moment.
My first and foremost piece of advice to those considering an all-nighter is this: Find a friend in your class, and be a terrible influence. Tell them in advance you don't plan on starting until the night before. Take them to a bar two nights before it's due. Make them feel that's more than acceptable not to start until not starting is really, seriously no longer an option.
Because when 3 a.m. hits, and you find yourself wondering if your professor meant "due April 15" as in walking into class on April 15, or by 11:59 p.m. on April 15, you're going to want someone to listen to you fret.
It also helps to get hyped up for an all-nighter: Plan your location, your break times, your snacks, your Red Bull dosage, etc. If you're like me, and consume enough caffeine on a daily basis to kill a grown Labrador retriever, adrenaline will be the only thing jetting you through the wee hours of the morning.
For my own purposes, working toward the enigmatic 4 a.m. trip to Frosty's helped propel me forward. However, I advise against this; when the victim of my poor academic influence and myself drove down a barren Maine St., we arrived at Frosty's only to find a sign scrawled in felt marker taped to the window:
"Closed due to sickness."
Heart-wrenching. I fell to my knees on the sidewalk in front of the store, arms outstretched, belting a wail of devastation as I lowered my anguished face to the concrete.
Broken and battered, coffee- and donut-less, I sat in the Tower Lab, putting the final commas and italics in a "Works Cited" page at 5:40 a.m.
At 6:00 a.m., as the first rays of light struck the great state of Maine, I brushed my teeth, put on my pajamas, set my alarm for 7:45 a.m., and went to bed.
And couldn't fall asleep. I lay in bed, stared at the ceiling, heard the birds wake up, listened to my godforsaken alarm screech like a crow laying an egg, downed about four cups of coffee and three muffins in the dining hall, and went to class.
I was surprised and disturbed at how great I felt the next day. I've been told this is usually what happens following all-nighters; the following day the sun will feel a little bright, but that's about all.
The next day, however, felt like a daylong acid trip. Seriously. If am I ever have a 500-pound weight-lifter lunge at my head and slam an ether-soaked rag to my face, I will be completely prepared for the sensation. (I'm taking a stab here at what an acid trip feels like.)
The good news about all-nighters is, though, that they do end, and that you will recover. The quality of my paper is, predictably enough, questionable, and I've had a rough past couple days, but I've survived and can now tell all of you my tale.
But, now that it's about 5:15 a.m., I think it's time to go to bed.